


A Little Redemption

by runningwafers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Returns, Bucky Barnes is mostly well-adjusted, Coming Out, Domestic, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pre-HYDRA Reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5821567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwafers/pseuds/runningwafers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky escapes on his own, and seeks out his old ally Natalia Romanova to help him bring down HYDRA. When he finds out Steve is alive, things get more complicated.</p><p>(An AU to Captain America: The Winter Solider)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Little Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

> There will be some minor violence in the subsequent chapter(s), but nothing graphic. This will be 2 or 3 parts total.

It's quiet in Natalia's apartment. James had disabled her security systems with practiced ease, the programming automatic despite over a year of effort to rid himself of as much of HYDRA as he could. He knows Natalia works with S.H.I.E.L.D. now, that she escaped the Red Room years ago, but he doesn't know much beyond that. He thinks he might have even shot her once, but he can't be certain. Decades of memories are all jumbled up, half-erased, most too graphic and violent for him to want to remember.

A few hours pass, and he hears light footsteps outside the apartment, followed by the door creaking open. Natalia enters with her gun drawn, aimed directly at him.

"Who the hell are you?"

He leans forward into the light. "You don't remember?"

She narrows her gaze, appraising him. When he slides forward his metal arm, she lets out a barely audible gasp. "Активов?" she asks. "Holy shit. Last time I saw you, you fucking shot me. So much for old friends."

His expression remains blank. "I couldn't remember if that was you. At least I didn't kill you." She raises her eyebrows at him, not lowering her gun. "I'm trying to get out. Like you did."

"Get out from what?"

"HYDRA," he says simply.

"You work for HYDRA?"

He thought he might get this response. "Who did you think I worked for?"

"Red Room, KGB. Then as a hired assassin."

"'Hired' is a very generous way of putting it. I never worked for the Russians, not really. I was brainwashed by HYDRA, used as a tool only when they needed me. I've had no autonomy in--" he holds back exactly how long, "a long time. But I used to be a good person, I know that, and I'm trying to get that back."

"HYDRA was destroyed in 1946 soon after Captain America took down Red Skull's plane," Natalia states.

James schools his expression to hold back the pain of this reminder, that Steve died to stop something that had never really been stopped. "Yes, but Armin Zola escaped, as did others," he explains. "'Cut off one head and two more shall take its place.' Zola reformed HYDRA and infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D., and so they remain to this day. Pierce is HYDRA, Sitwell too. I don't know how many others, but there are many.

"Pierce is HYDRA? What's your proof? You realize how ridiculous this sounds."

"I don't have proof. I have memories. I reported to Pierce, Sitwell made a few appearances. There are others, though not that I would know by name." He cocks his head. "I fully expect you not to trust me, why would you? But I need help, and I have nowhere else to go. I'm wanted by HYDRA, I'm wanted by S.H.I.E.L.D.-- to the extent that they are separate-- I'm wanted by the multiple governments. I can't go to anybody with the blood on my hands, but HYDRA needs to be stopped, and nobody is trying to stop them. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s integrity is important to me."

“Why?”

“It’s not important.”

Natalia appraises him, and then asks, "They really call you the 'Winter Soldier?'" She air quotes the name with an air of mockery-- she had never known it back then. Underneath the tension between them, he can feel their old rapport. She's the only one he can remember actually relating to, when he was the Winter Soldier. She was just a child then, but deadly-- the Soldier had trained her. Brainwashed, just like him. But they made a connection, and soon after, she had gotten out.

"It's not the name I would have chosen," he admits. "I'm going with James these days." It's not the name he remembers best. 'Bucky' is the name he hears in his memories, but he's not the man he used to be. It feels like a lie to use that man's name.

"What kind of help are you expecting?"

"Any help I can get," he says. "I'm not safe on my own, I have not defeated all of HYDRA's programming. I have... episodes." He does not detail what those episodes entail. "I need protection from myself until I am in further control of my mind, and I need someone who has access to S.H.I.E.L.D. to get proof of HYDRA's existence and take them down."

"Why should I believe you don't want to kill me?"

"If I wanted to assassinate you, I would have done it already." He looks her square in the eyes. "I've had the opportunity before."

"You wouldn't if you wanted information now. Access to S.H.I.E.L.D., as you say."

"I know you well enough to know I'd never get it. Could I?"

"No." She pauses. "But I can't anticipate every potential outcome. There are plenty of ways this could be a plot to screw me over, to get to other people."

His expression remains blank. "Like I said, I don't expect you to trust me. I don't know what I can do to earn that trust. I only want to fight HYDRA."

She finally lowers her gun. "You have to give me more proof than your word."

He hesitates only a moment, before pulling something from his pocket. She raises her gun again at the movement, and he puts his hand up in a gesture of peace.

"Do you remember these?" he asks, pulling out an old communication device. It was how they both received orders while in the field when they were training and working together, however briefly, though the technology was dated now. He pulls off the cover, and then clicks a sequence of concealed buttons to reveal a small plate, etched with an emblem.

"What does this really prove?" she asks, taking the device and evaluating its authenticity. "So it's HYDRA's logo, who is to say you didn’t fabricate this yourself?"

"It's all I have at the moment, and this device was not easy to confiscate. There are files at the Triskelion, I can provide you information."

He can tell she doesn't yet believe him, though she wants to. He was counting on this. Her sympathy, their shared experience. It was why she was the only one he could go to.

"If I can get access to the information without garnering suspicion, and the files are what you say, we can talk about how we move forward."

James doesn't smile, he has forgotten what the expression feels like, but he nods and begins telling her what he knows.

 

* * *

 

Natasha (as James has learned she is now called) obtains the files from his directions, as promised. They aren't substantial, just some fishy communication logs from Pierce and Sitwell, but it's enough to get Natasha on his side for now. She is still wary of him, always on guard when in his presence, but she decides to let him stay in the apartment when she finds out he’s been breaking into vacant apartments and occasionally sleeping under bridges. It's a blessing-- staying hidden is no easy task, and daily showers are a nice bonus. The surveillance on Natasha's apartment is, at present, very minimal. In the recovery after the Battle for New York, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources have been stretched thin. As long as Natasha doesn't arouse suspicion, she can enjoy the privacy she's earned as a top S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. James doesn't dare leave the apartment, but he has no reason to suspect he's been yet detected.

“You need to get yourself a hobby,” Natasha says one day, a few weeks after James has been staying with her. “I know you don’t watch TV, you don’t like to read, you avoid the internet. What do you actually do all day when I’m not around? Thousands of pushups?”

She’s not entirely wrong. “Taking in new information is too overwhelming,” he says, surprised at the petulance in his tone. “My memories are already scrambled up, I don’t want to risk losing or confusing the few good ones I do have. The more I learn about the future, the less I remember about the past.”

Natasha hums. “What about cooking? Or indoor gardening or something? Maybe something you’ve never done before, so it’s all new memories. Nothing to get mixed up.”

He considers. “Gardening, huh?”

She grins. “Yeah, I could get you some supplies and books. Wouldn’t be any trouble, and it would really liven up the place. I do like plants, just don’t exactly have the lifestyle to maintain them.”

James considers and gives her a quiet nod. She’s right, he’ll go mad with nothing to occupy his time.

“I’ll pick up some supplies tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

He stays in Natasha’s spare room, which is sparsely but elegantly furnished with crisp, clean lines and a surprisingly comfortable bed. He had hoped being somewhere stable, sleeping in the same, real bed every night, would ease the nightmares. If they are getting any better, it's probably more credit to the regular human interaction he is now having with Natasha, because the bed still feels wrong and he wakes up more often than not in a cold sweat, his voice hoarse from screaming.

He often dreams he's the Soldier, but it's not like in his memories. Instead, he is in his own mind, like he never used to be under HYDRA's control, but he can’t do anything about it. He kills people all the same, his body obeying HYDRA's instructions no matter what his mind says. He wants to die in those moments, to turn the trigger on himself, but instead he is forced to watch the life drain out of his victims, over and over again.

One morning, he wakes up on the kitchen floor, his back and shoulders aching. He blinks his eyes open to see his shirt smeared with blood, Natasha hovering over him, gripping his arms, her face bloodied and bruised.

"Oh shit," he croaks, dread washing over him. "What did I do?"

Natasha relaxes her grip on him and lets out a breath. "You were standing in the kitchen with a knife, and when I came in, you attacked me." She lifts up her bloodied shirt to reveal a shallow gash across her abdomen. "Goes nice with the bullet scar, don't you think?"

"Shit," James says, his head falling into his hands. "Oh god, Natasha, I'm so sorry."

She pats his arm and presses her lips into a tight line. "It happened to me, too," she says. "Not quite as dramatically, but..."

"Don't know why you don't kick me out," he mutters. It's not like it's the first time something like this has happened.

"And unleash you onto the world?" she asks with a smirk. "Think it's better to keep you under my thumb."

"So you're doing this for the good of the general public?"

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Soldier." She stands up and brushes her clothes. "Thanks to you, I gotta spend some extra time with makeup concealing this shit." She gestures to her face. “It’s not very often that I can't handle my own in a fight. That thing is no joke," she says, pointing to his arm.

He looks at it with a grimace. "I know. I wish--"

"Wishing's not gonna do you any good." She offers him a hand up and he accepts, getting to his feet. "Get cleaned up, and then clean up this mess."

 

* * *

 

“Your basil’s looking a little sad,” Natasha comments one evening, coming home after picking up Chinese food from down the street.

“I know,” James says, getting up from the couch to inspect the small potted plants. “All the rest are doing so well. Do you think I’m overwatering?”

“Don’t ask me. Maybe it’s the soil?”

“Hmm.” He walks into the kitchen and grabs plates and utensils. He loves when Natasha gets take-out-- there’s a whole world of food he’s certain he’s never tried before. Chinese has become a quick favorite.

"None of the Avengers know about Project Insight," Natasha comments as she fills up her plate. "Fury does, although he doesn't know that I know."

"You think Fury is HYDRA?" James asks before stuffing his mouth with a potsticker.

Natasha frowns as she takes a seat at the kitchen bar. "I don't know. I'm not ready to believe it yet."

James swallows down his food. "You can't trust anyone, Nat."

"Interesting advice considering I'm harboring a known assassin and enemy of S.H.I.E.L.D." She kicks him softly in the leg.

"Not yet proven my loyalty?"

"'You can't trust anyone,'" she quotes. "You're growing on me, though. My defenses are starting to wear thin, I'm going soft."

"Can't do much from this apartment," he says. "I know you been watchin' me, and I ain't tried anything, have I? Besides attack you in my sleep, anyway.”

"No," she admits. "Not _yet_."

Despite her professed suspicion, she pulls out a USB and plugs it into her computer, bringing up the latest files stolen from Pierce's assistant. There's nothing immediately incriminating, but there are Project Insight documents. As Natasha can't admit she knows about the project, any information they can get is helpful.

"Looks like you were right," Nat says. "The goal of the project is to eliminate threats before they can be realized."

"Eliminate enemies of HYDRA," James clarifies. "Do they really have the tech to do that?" James is still lost when it comes to current technology, and always defers to Natasha without making it too obvious how little he really knows.

"I'm not sure," she admits. "If it was integrated with surveillance data from around the world, then it would certainly become much more devastating. We don't know the scale of what they're planning yet, what kind of weapons or defense these helicarriers are going to have, especially since they are still over a year away from their projected deadline. Who knows if they even have all the tech yet that they want." She takes a bite of food, thinking as she swallows it down. "We need access to better files. All we have so far is stuff that they aren't worried about people finding. There's enough to tell a story, but nothing more than a conspiracy theory. I don't know how to get anything more legitimate without making myself an obvious enemy, though."

This is beyond James' particular area of expertise. His methods of getting information don't translate to hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D. without detection. He’s used to a more hands-on approach.

"So what do we do next?"

Natasha purses her lips before answering. "We wait on it. They'll know these files were copied-- though always from different sources and never connected to me-- any immediate action will be suspicious. I'm keeping on it, but we need to be careful." She leans back into the stool. "Sure would be helpful if we could bring more people into this."

"We--"

"I know."

The risks of bringing someone else in and being exposed to someone working for HYDRA at this stage is too dangerous. They could be stopped and shut down before finding anything substantial, and it's impossible to know who is on their side. James knows that Natasha trusts the other so-called ‘Avengers,” but he knows nothing about them other than one of them has been trying to convince Natasha to move. The information is out there, easily accessible with a simple internet search, but he's wary. His old memories are too precious. _Piling up blankets in a dirty Brooklyn apartment, the heat out for the third time that month, snuggling up next to a warm body in an effort to conserve body heat. Going out with a girl on each arm, drinking and dancing like a war wasn't brewing. Taking on odd jobs in the evenings to help pay for Steve's art classes. Steve._ He’s not going to risk forgetting all that.

A few years ago (or longer, he can't remember, but the card catalog at the library makes him think it must have been closer to decades), he looked up Captain America, learned he had died in a plane fighting HYDRA, just like Zola had told him. It was after what he thinks was one of his more difficult missions, with more time out of cryo for him to suss out hints of a past life from the deep recesses of his mind. He had gone rogue for a few days, and had payed dearly-- HYDRA had tortured him endlessly after, erasing all traces, but the memory had come back a few months ago. Now, he avoids looking anything about Steve, because he's afraid of making false memories, of remembering things as someone else thought they had been rather than the way they actually were. It’s not worth the risk of muddying up the one good thing he has to think about.

 

* * *

 

  
Eventually, James’ garden ends up taking up a whole quarter of Nat’s living room, and he has seedlings starting in various locations throughout the apartment. James finds he likes the feel of his hands in the dirt, cool against his skin. It’s a bitch to clean out of the crevices of his metal arm, but it’s worth it to touch something real and make something grow. Almost all of his memories have been of cities or remote, hardscaped facilities, and he thinks maybe when this is all over, he wouldn’t mind finding a little plot of land where he could grow much more than he’ll ever be able to in a city apartment.

Even with the garden, James eventually starts running out of ways to spend his days. He goes over evidence Nat procures, again and again, but much of it is over his head. The game has changed over the years, and besides, they don't yet have that much to go on. He finds hidden links, matching suspicious dates and names, but it's not enough to occupy all of his time.

Six weeks into his stay with Nat, he decides to conquer her television. He's seen Nat operate it, she had even offered to show him how it was set up, but he hasn't given it much attention. The sheer availability of information these days is overwhelming. The images can be violent, triggering memories that he wished would stay buried, but he knows he needs to get caught up on the modern world if he wants to be a help to Natasha.

He starts with the news. It's so different than the radio programs he used to hear, full of wartime propaganda, but the images of life outside Nat's apartment are oddly reassuring, despite how different they look from the New York in his memories. The city is in recovery, rebuilding after the destruction of the Battle of New York, which occupies the majority of the news stories. He thinks he should research what happened, exactly, but aliens are a bit too much for him, and Nat would give him a much more accurate and thorough summary than what he would get on the news, anyway. He'll have to ask her sometime, when he’s mentally ready.

He turns off the TV after about an hour, overwhelmed from the images and information, and takes a nap on the couch as he waits for Nat to come home. It's preferable to being on ice, but he's still edgy, forced to spend all of his time in her apartment.

He wakes up when the door opens, his reflexes immediately in defense mode before realizing it's just Nat, talking on the phone.

"I'm tired of being out of the field, too. Office work at the Triskelion is still office work," she complains, and James hears her opening the fridge, most likely grabbing a coconut water. "What are you doing tonight? I know you can't exactly drink, but want to grab a beer and complain to each other anyway? You know Fury's working on-- uh huh, but he won't-- right." A pause. "Yeah, let's meet at 8. Usual spot?" Another pause. "See you then." She hangs up her phone.

"Going out?" James asks from the couch.

"Steve's as bored as I am of having no missions lately, and he doesn't even have secret HYDRA takedown or a fugitive staying at his apartment to busy himself with," Natasha explains. "You know, I really think we should consider bringing him in. If anyone is gonna want to save S.H.I.E.L.D. from HYDRA, it's Captain America."

James' heart skips a beat. "Captain America?" he asks, not trusting himself to say much more. Surely Nat doesn't mean-- "He died in 1946, has someone replaced him?"

Natasha stares at him. "What?” A flash of worry crosses her face before being replaced with her usual stoicism. “They found Steve in the ice months ago, he was still alive, hadn’t aged a day. He fought in the Battle of New York. He's one of the Avengers and a good friend-- he needs those, since he doesn’t know too many people this century." She raises her eyebrows. "Jesus, we really don't spend enough time just chatting, huh? I know you're all about the mysterious won't-share-my-past thing and I understand that, but--"

James stops listening. There's a loud buzzing in his head, he can't process this. Steve is _alive?_ His Steve?

"You know, you remind me of him sometimes," Natasha is saying. "Similar mannerisms and weirdly antiquated speech patterns that come out at random times.”

James shoves the emotions down as hard as he can and shrugs. "Must be a Brooklyn thing," he says, unable to meet her gaze for fear of letting loose an emotion. "I ever tell you I used to be from Brooklyn? You know, if I ever redeem myself, maybe I'll get to meet him. Show my full rehabilitation, associatin' with an American icon like that."

Natasha smiles. "Let's focus on getting some more evidence first."

"Not that I been doin' much of that," James grumbles. "Feel useless stuck here."

She squares her shoulders and faces him. "HYDRA is still active in S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm fully convinced of that, and that idea wouldn't even be on my radar without you. Your sniping skills are unmatched, and nobody's ever been able stay as off the grid and mysterious as the Winter Soldier, and those skills are still second nature to you whether you like it or not. S.H.I.E.L.D. has nothing on you, not so much as a photograph-- I've looked. You're a huge asset.” She grimaces at her word choice and he can’t help but smile. “We just have to be patient."

"Yeah, okay," James says. He's too distracted by the revelation that _Steve is alive_ to really have a conversation, he wants her the hell out of the apartment so he can process that new intel in peace. "Ain't you got a date with a national hero?"

Nat checks her watch and nods, heading off to her room to change into more casual clothes.

"Later, Solider," she says as she leaves, knowing he hates the nickname.

As soon as she is gone, James digs out the phone Natasha had bought him a few weeks ago. He hadn't wanted to use it, still committed to his avoidance of new information, but now he wants to know everything. He's still confused at how this device qualifies as a "phone," since it can do everything Nat's computer can, but he's not in the mood to scrutinize modern linguistics.

A surge of adrenaline rushes through him as he types in "Captain America" and presses “Search.” He’s confronted with headlines about the battle, most of them dated a few months ago, and then finds Steve's Wikipedia page. It's more or less accurate to his memories, though much is glossed over, and he's surprised to find quite a bit of the page dedicated to him. There's a whole section titled "Relationship with James ‘Bucky’ Barnes." This section is perhaps the least informative of all, stating that Steve avoids answering questions of his life pre-war, and much is left to speculation beyond their time in the Howling Commandos.

The most interesting section covers what Steve has been up to since he'd been brought back, of which James knows essentially nothing. He finds references to articles and interviews and reads through them all eagerly. He finds videos of people asking questions about Steve's reactions to the new technology and what he thinks of the future.

It's a surreal experience. For the past year, Steve has been an almost mythical figure in his head, a symbol of his old life and of what James is fighting for. But he's _real,_ a living person, a celebrity and close ally of James' only confidant. He still has his old nervous ticks, the same speech patterns, the same face from James' memories.

It’s too much, it’s too much to process, he can’t--

He chucks the phone onto the couch and runs his hands over his face, groaning. A huge part of him is elated, but there’s also panic coursing through him, because what does this mean? What is he supposed to do now? He can’t face Steve, he can’t go back to him as this shell of the person he used to be, as a former weapon of HYDRA. That’s not what Steve died for.

He has some drugs-- high dose benzos-- stolen from a HYDRA facility he’d taken down a couple of months before finding Natasha. They had been a godsend when he was on his own, but they make him feel not quite himself (whoever that is), and he’s been trying to ween himself off. He considers the bottle in his hand before opening it with vigor, pouring a few pills into his shaking hand and throwing them in his mouth without water.

He’s asleep before Natasha gets home, and neither of them bring it up in the morning.

 

* * *

 

"You wanna watch a movie?” It’s a Sunday, and it’s the first time James has ventured to suggest a leisurely activity himself.

Natasha looks up from her computer and calmly asks, “What kind of movies are you into? I have access to pretty much anything, do you have something in mind or are you looking for suggestions?”

“I ain’t seen a movie in a long time.” In his head, it’s not even the right phrasing, his brain immediately supplied ‘go see a picture’ before realizing that it wasn’t the right terminology for watching something on Natasha’s television. “I remember seeing Snow White, once. People still know that one?”

“Yes, people still know about Snow White,” she says, shaking her head. “Is that what you want to watch?”

He shrugs. “I’ll leave it up to you, something light.”

“I’ll make popcorn.”

They end up deciding on a movie from the 70s that Natasha talks about fondly, with dreamy colors that make James nostalgic for the world outside of the apartment in a way he hasn’t experienced before. It’s a quiet story, with little talking and little action, but the acting seems good enough and he finds himself moderately engrossed.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of this,” he says halfway through, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Thought there’d be more action.”

“Aren’t you on a break from action?”

He looks up at her from his lounging position on the couch. “What, you afraid you’re gonna trigger an episode and you know I could beat you up?”

She rolls her eyes. “Let’s not debate who could take who, alright? And my whole life doesn’t revolve around being The Black Widow. I’m allowed to enjoy other things. You should remember that you are, too.”

“Don’t even remember what I like,” he grumbles, and she throws a piece of popcorn at him.

“Whiner. And quiet down, there’s a good part coming up.”

James frowns and lies back down on the pillow, perched against Natasha’s thigh. After a moment, he says, “I don’t get why she would leave him like that after all they went through together. It doesn’t seem right.”

“Oh my god, what did I just say?” Despite her protest, she cracks a small smile. “And what, are you a big romantic at heart?”

He thinks for a moment. “I just mean, they were together since they were kids. Even if they aren’t in love anymore, it seems like a lot to give up on at the drop of a hat.”

Natasha hums. “And I guess you’re an expert on romance and companionship?”

“Are you?” he counters.

“Romance isn’t really my thing,” she explains. “I don’t know anything about whether or not it’s yours, though.”

“What do you think?”

She sinks into the couch, a gesture of intimacy that he assumes is calculated. “I think you had a life before you became the Winter Soldier. You didn’t spend your youth with the Red Room like me.”

“True. But I was never… I never had the kind of thing they have.” He gestures at the screen. “He bought her a house, they got kids.”

Natasha scoffs. “And that’s your definition of love? Being able to buy things for each other and procreate? The whole point is that no matter how perfect two people can seem together, how ideal their lives should be, it still might not work out and they could still be unhappy. They had everything on their side and look how they ended up.”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh my god.” She breathes out through her nose. “Just watch the movie, okay? There’s a whole third act that will make my point very clear.”

Natasha is right, in the end-- the woman finds her own happiness, and the man realizes he was never really in love with her, more the idea of her. It still kind of seems like a bunch of crap to Bucky, but he supposes he’s never really understood love.

 

* * *

  

"Look what I found," Nat says one day, plopping a folder down in front of James.

"What is this?" He asks, opening it. Oh shit, it's his file, or at least it's _a_ file on him. He panics as he thinks what might be in it, but tries not to look overeager as he flips through the pages.

"They think you're dead," she states. "Cocky bastards, they know what you're capable of, but are too proud of themselves to consider you might be able to break past their programming on your own."

"Give me some credit, I faked my death pretty good."

"Death doesn't mean much without a body in this line of work," she says, and James has to acknowledge how right she is. "But congratulations," she adds, patting him on the back. "I think this means we deserve a drink."

"I'm sick of your vodka," James complains.

" _Out_ for a drink," she clarifies. "Being stuck inside for months would be tough on anyone's sanity, let alone someone with your levels of PTSD."

"I ain't tried to attack you in--"

She puts her hand up to stop him. "Exactly. So I think we can manage a drink, eh? There's a bar a block away, I'm known to come in the back entrance, nobody will ask questions."

"Nat..."

"It'll be good for you. I promise."

It takes a little more convincing, but eventually he submits. It's riskier than she says, they both know it-- if anybody is onto them, they sure as hell aren't gonna make it obvious-- but Nat's right. He has been going stir crazy, and if she's willing to go out with him, well, the offer's too tempting to turn down. He can't get very drunk anymore, not without enough alcohol to kill a normal man, but the thought of liquor still put a smile on his face. It's been decades since he's gone out for a drink for the hell of it.

The bartender acknowledges Natasha with a nod as they quietly enter through the back, sliding up to the empty side of the bar, and immediately starts making her drink. "For your friend?" she asks.

Natasha turns to look at James. "Brandy Stinger?" he asks.

The bartender raises her eyebrows. "A man for the classics, haven't made one of those in ages." She digs up an old cocktail recipe book from under the bar and prepares his drink.

"So," Natasha starts, "interestingly, there was nothing about your past in the file. No country of origin, no birth date, no entry date into their service or dates of missions older than five years, no name."

James nods, looking down at the bar. "Not important to them, right? Just a weapon--"

She lowers her voice, ignoring him. "I'm not going to press you for details if you don't want to share, but I'm also not going to judge you if you ever feel the need to open up. So far I know you spent time in Brooklyn, and you certainly speak like an American. That's about all I got."

She had seen stranger things than a ninety year old looking thirty, apparently not so dead after all. She would believe him, but then there’s Steve. James’ ability to function is so precarious already, he needs to fight HYDRA before even thinking about Steve.

"I swear it ain't all that interesting," he says evasively, as the bartender slides him his drink. "Thanks." He bites back the 'doll.'

Natasha is quiet for a moment, and then asks, "Do you even remember?"

He looks at her square in the eyes. "I remember enough. But I don't think I'm ready to face who that person was, not yet." He takes a swig of his drink. "Maybe I need to feel a little redemption first."

She raises her glass to his. "Cheers to that."

 

* * *

 

On Natasha's days off (which seem to follow no particular pattern), she often stays home to entertain James. He knows she has better things to be doing, that she's coddling him, but he appreciates the company and so keeps his mouth shut. It does a world of good to spend the day cooking simple meals, playing card games and having lazy conversations. There's a familiarity that allows him to feel like he thinks Bucky sometimes did. It's still so weird to see his former assassin ally engaged in mundane tasks, and he knows she could get someone else to do it but does it for the sake of being mundane.

On one such day, Nat gets a text while folding her laundry.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." She goes to the table where Bucky is sitting and pulls out her laptop, typing in something quickly and turning the screen so both of them can see it.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Fucking Steve," she says, shaking her head. "I can't believe he never told me."

James schools his expression as she turns up the volume and clicks play.

He's being interviewed on a morning show, by a woman with clear, light skin and an older man with an overly bright smile.

"How are you adjusting to life in 2012, now that you've been here awhile?" the woman asks, tone friendly. "I know you must get asked that a lot, but people always want to hear," she adds with a chuckle.

Steve smiles. "I'm adjusting pretty well, thanks. It's been a rough road, losing the people that matter most, but I guess I was always prepared for that future, with the war and all. I made friends with a lot of good people during the war, and luckily some of them are still alive today. The Battle of New York was, of course, a big wake up call to the new century. I think after surviving that, I'm ready for anything the future has to offer."

She nods. "Right! Cell phones must seem downright mundane next to an alien attack."

"I wouldn’t necessarily say that." He smiles at the audience and they laugh.

"What about social changes? I know you've spoken very positively about the advances for women in the workplace and politics in the past-- no surprise given your relationship with Agent Peggy Carter-- but is there anything that has surprised you?"

Steve looks down for a moment, considering his response. "It's interesting, I get that question a lot, as if people think social change is some sort of inevitable linear progression, and that I must be shocked at how liberal people are now. Obviously, the end of things like segregation and Japanese detainment camps are hugely important, but sometimes I see racism today that's worse than what I saw back then. Those sorts of things don't just disappear, you need continued activism and people constantly fighting against it to actually achieve equality. We're still not there, as far as I can tell. There were bigots back then, and there are bigots now. There were accepting, progressive people back then, and there are now, too. The legal strides are amazing, I don't mean to downplay that, but there's still a lot to fight for."

The host seems caught a little off guard by such a serious response for a morning talk show. "Well, let nobody say Captain America is out of touch with social issues!" She clears her throat to ask another question, but is preempted by her co-host.

"What about the military?" he asks.

The female host glares at him through her smile. "Heavy topics for this early in the morning!" she chirps with false laughter.

He ignores her and addresses Steve. "I'm sure you have heard of Don't Ask Don't Tell and its repeal. Many are concerned about the integrity of our forces now that homosexual individuals can serve. Do you have any thoughts on that, given your history as a military Captain?"

Steve blinks at him. "With all due respect, I don't think that there are suddenly more gay people in service today than there were during WWII, we were just better at hiding it then out of necessity." The hosts seem unprepared for this revelation, and before they can get in a response, Steve continues, "Whether I like it or not, Captain America has become an emblem for American values. For many people, that means so-called 'traditional' American values, which I have come to learn are quite socially conservative, which I, Steve Rogers, have never been. I am only one person, I cannot speak for an entire nation, and I don't think anybody should expect me to. But what I, personally, stand for is freedom and the right for people to live how they want without judgement or fear of persecution. Sexual orientation, race, class, gender, whatever-- it has no impact on a person's integrity as an Americans or as a solider." He flashes a look at the audience. "Sorry if that's a little off topic."

The female host recovers quickly with a smile, brushing her dress. "Do you mean to say that you were in a relationship with someone besides Peggy Carter during your service?"

Steve shifts slightly, leaning forward. "Things were different back then. I guess you could say I was in a relationship with a man who I loved, yes, but I don't think that either of us saw much future in it. Both of us anticipated that I would end up with Peggy after the war, though we were never officially together. I did love her, too-- I still do-- and regret that our timing never worked out."

"Did she know?" asks the male host eagerly, seeming to forget that he's not in the middle of private conversation. "About your other relationship?"

"She didn't back then, no," Steve replies calmly. "She figured it out on her own, after. We've talked about it since, of course it's been many years from her perspective. There's no ill-will there, though perhaps some regret that things didn't work out differently." He looks as if to have more to add, but stays silent.

"Your sexuality is not something you have discussed publicly before, am I correct?" the female host asks perkily, as if visualizing the segment's imminent YouTube hits.

"No," Steve admits. "I never meant it to be a secret, though, once I found out that I wouldn’t go to jail for it. Just been busy," he adds, and the audience laughs, the battle still recent in everyone's minds. "I do fear that some people will react negatively to this news, as if it makes me a different person instead of who I always was. My personal life is what it is, but I like to think my actions during the war, and since then as a part of the Avengers, stand on their own. I can take judgement, but what Captain America and S.H.I.E.L.D. as a larger organization represent should stand separate from that."

"For your sake, I hope America sees it the same way," the male host responds. "Well, unfortunately, it looks like we're running out of time. A lot of interesting revelations here today from Steve Rogers, Captain America. We hope to chat with you again soon."

"Thank you, sir, ma'am." He nods at the hosts, and the clip ends.

"I can't believe he never fucking told me he was into dudes," Natasha says, raising her hands in a gesture of disbelief. "I could have set him up with so many guys, is that why he always turned down the woman I set him up with or what?" She pulls out her phone and starts texting furiously.

"' _Who I loved?'_ " James repeats quietly, dumbfounded. He'd learned things weren't so bad for people like him and Steve nowadays, but he certainly never expected Steve to out himself on national television, and to admit, for the first time since they were kids, that he loved Bucky (as far as he remembers, anyway, and it would be a damn shame to forget something like that).

"The internet is going to be all over old archives trying to figure out who he was bangin' in the service," Natasha says, still typing on her phone. "I hope Steve realizes that."

James' throat feels suddenly dry. It's only thanks to Natasha's trust and goodwill that she hasn't already tried to identify him, and if she has, she hasn’t let on. If people figure out who Steve was with (likely), and his face ends up in the papers (or on the internet, or whatever happens these days), his presumption of relative anonymity is going to disappear. Of course, not many people will believe their eyes considering he died in the forties, but these days, people know that sometimes people don't stay as dead as they ought to.

Especially Nat.

He knows he should tell her, that she deserves to know his past, has more than earned it after all she's done for him. But James still isn't ready to deal with Steve, and he’s afraid that Nat will take things into her own hands if she learns the truth, whatever his wishes. He's killed so many people, he worked for decades for HYDRA....

Natasha leaves after a few more texts and a couple of phone calls, saying something about damage control and PR. James watches the clip on repeat as soon as she's gone, smiling to himself at Steve's audacity. It's so _good_ to watch him, to know this is what he looks like today. The fact that he can't actually talk to him, or touch him, hits him physically.

 _Soon,_ he thinks. They're so close, they could make a good argument with the information they have if pressed. They just need that one last piece of information-- the nail in the coffin-- and maybe (if he's extremely lucky and things don't go horribly wrong and he's not immediately found and arrested), he'll get to see Steve again. In the flesh. The thought is thrilling and terrifying.

 _I'm doing this for you, pal,_ he thinks, and he prays to the God he no longer believes in that he gets a chance to let Steve know that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a sap for Steve publicly coming out. I know it happens in tons of fics, but I couldn't resist. Next up comes the action and (dun dun DUN) Bucky and Steve reuniting.
> 
> This is my first foray into writing for this fandom, and I very much appreciate feedback (and kudos if you liked it)!


	2. A Little Action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to post! To recap: Bucky found Natasha and enlisted her help to take down HYDRA. They started living together, but Bucky didn't know until a few months in that Steve was alive. He saw him come out as bisexual on TV, but he's not ready to face him yet.

Eventually, Natasha finds something really incriminating. Bucky is sitting at the bar in her building-- the only place he regularly goes to alone-- when she tells him.

"We need to leave," Natasha says into his ear, sneaking up on him as he nurses a cocktail and chats to the bartender (his only other human communication besides Nat).

James doesn't look up from his drink as he answers, "Right now?"

She gives a tight nod that he sees out of the corner of his eyes. "I found what we've been waiting to find," she says quietly. "Uploaded it to a secure remote location. Unfortunately, quite a few people figured out that I found it."

"Shit," he says, just as a bullet pierces through the room, aimed right at Natasha’s head. She narrowly dodges out of the way and pulls out her gun.

"Hope you came prepared," she says, and she begins firing.

Three other people in the bar are after them, but James is able to preempt two of them before they can focus their weapons, hurling his barstool into their path with his mechanical arm and knocking them prone. He pulls out a gun and looks to find the bartender, to do something to protect her, but she’s already gone. Instead he goes up to the two bodies, knocks them out and breaks their weapons. He’s interrupted by another flood of bullets and he ducks behind the wall to the bathroom with Nat.

“What’s the plan?” he asks her, as she fiddles with her phone.

"Dammit," she says, and James gives her a questioning look. "Steve intercepted me as I was escaping the Triskelion. He followed me here and is offering backup."

 _Shit, shit, shit_. "This isn't his fight," James says. "Does he know anything?"

"Not yet, only that I'm in trouble. But if I don't bring him in now, he'll find some other way to make it his fight." She starts tapping out something on her phone, but is distracted when an explosion goes off in the other corner of the bar. "We have to move."

James does a mental assessment of their situation. All exits will be guarded, but things have moved quickly, there likely won't be major reinforcements yet. He's ten seconds from formulating a plan when another round of bullets comes through the windows, exploding the panes of glass still remaining. Three heavily armed agents burst through in the wake, and James takes refuge behind the bar for cover while Natasha grapples with the largest agent, who is attempting to aim a gun under her chin.

James focuses his gun on the agent and is about to take the shot when a familiar shield flies through the air, knocking the man out instead. _Shit_ , James thinks, ducking down. He peeks around the bar and can see Steve and Natasha talking as they fight the two remaining agents, though through the commotion he cannot hear what they are saying. He takes a breath and does quick recon and-- _fuck._

"Get down!" James screams, lunging at Nat and Steve in an attempt to pull them behind the bar. Natasha's reflexes are quick, she leaps behind a knocked over table and presses herself against the ground, but Steve is still grappling with the agents. "Now!" he shrieks, just as an explosion blows through the front seating area, sending Steve and the agents hurling toward the bar. James reaches up and grabs Steve's arm, bringing him tumbling down away from the wreckage and on top of him.

"What--" Steve stops talking as soon as he gets an eyefull of the man below him. James can't stand it, the overwhelmed, hopeful and confused look in Steve's eyes, like there's too much emotion for him to settle on anything.

James sucks in a breath through his nose and runs his hand-- his human one-- up Steve's arm to the inside of his forearm, where the skin had once been sliced through with a knife during a fight-- Steve had lost so much blood he'd passed out. The serum had taken care of the ugly scar, but the memory is there, of Bucky patching him up, redressing the wound, pressing his lips against the scar. He rubs circles there, letting him know it’s really _him_ , and--

"How--" Steve is cut off by the sound of bullets.

"We gotta get Nat and get out of here, pal." He looks into his searching eyes. "I didn't mean for you to get involved, for it to be like--"

"Buck,” the name comes out choked, “whatever’s going on, I’m on your side.”

James tightens his lips and says, “Not sure that’s a smart idea on your part, but those were never your strong suit.”

Steve shoots him a smile like there aren’t bullets flying at them, and it’s too much, the feeling that wells up in James’ chest at the sight of it. Shit, he knew this would happen-- he needs to focus. He jumps to his feet and leans out a hand for Steve to grab. It’s his metal hand, he’d done it without thinking, and Steve accepts it with something between worry and wonder in his eyes.

James fires two shots at the agents on the floor, incapacitating but not killing them. “Get rid of your comms,” he instructs, giving Steve a once over that he tries to keep all business. “Anything that can be tracked. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised.”

Steve immediately removes the device from his ear and tosses his phone on the bar. He’s in civilian clothes, not carrying anything but his shield, and James has to trust that there aren’t any other tracking devices on him.

James takes his gun and aims it over Steve’s shoulder out the open window, taking out two more agents wearing S.H.I.E.L.D.’s insignia. It’s not the kind of thing he wants to do in front of Steve, but there’s no time for anything else. He leaves the unconscious agents on the floor alone. “Nat’s upstairs, two agents were in pursuit.” He gestures for Steve to follow him up.

“Took you long enough,” Nat says as they reach the landing, three bodies in front of her. “There’s a car two alleys over that I left with supplies. There are five agents at the roof access, and they’re not ones I’d particularly like to kill. I doubt all of them are HYDRA.”

“Are there any other exits?” Steve asks.

“Not that aren’t just as guarded, and we won’t be as positioned to escape.”

“We can easily take five agents,” James says. “You’re almost as good a shot as me, I know you know how to shoot to incapacitate. I’m sure Steve can figure out something to do with that shield of his.”

Nat nods and leads them to the roof ladder. “James should go first,” she says, and he wouldn’t have considered anything else. “The car is two alleys north, black Chevy. I’ll try to beat you there, I trust you’ll have my back if I do.”

James and Steve both nod, and James goes for the ladder.

“Wait,” Steve says, reaching out to stop him. He pulls James around and into a rough embrace. It’s the type of hug he used to give him before dangerous missions, back during the war, and the nostalgia that his touch elicits threatens to pull apart James’ focus.

“Trying to distract me right before I go out there?” James says, trying to stifle the well of emotions bubbling up inside him. He doesn’t look at Nat, but he can guess the expression she’s wearing isn’t surprise.

“It’s dangerous,” Steve says simply.

“Survived worse,” he says, his heart oddly light as he opens the hatch and shoots two agents in the gut before they can respond. Three others begin shooting at him, but he leaps up and grabs one of their guns and knocks out another one with it before shooting the first.

Steve springs up behind him, hurling his shield at the remaining agent and chasing Bucky across the roof. A bullet flies past from behind them and takes out an agent on the building next to them, and Nat comes running up behind it. “Okay, now you guys are gonna have my back, alright?” she says, passing them as she leaps across an alley to the roof. Steve and James are immediately behind her.

They sprint across the second roof and jump down into the alley, where the car is waiting.

“Steve up front, James in back,” she directs, getting into the car and turning the key. She immediately floors it in reverse, smashing an official S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle out of the way to get onto the main road.

James looks outside and sees they are being pursued by a fucking airplane. “Uh,” he starts. “There’s a weaponized aircraft above us, probably about to start shooting as soon as it turns the right direction.”

“Shit,” Natasha says. “I’m five minutes away from a point where we can lose them.”

“I got it,” Steve says, grabbing his shield as he makes for the window.

“What the hell are you gonna do?!” James demands. “Like hell I’m letting you die right now.”

“Then help,” he says, and he’s already out the window and pounding down the street toward the plane.

“The bag’s for you,” Natasha says, and he grabs the black backpack in the backseat, doing a quick assessment of what’s inside and grabbing what might be useful. He leaps through the window and onto the back of the car before jumping up onto the roof.

He looks out and sees Steve has managed to hurl his shield into the plane’s turbine, sending up a cloud of black smoke as it teeters to one side.

“Lift me!” Bucky yells, and Steve turns to him and quickly positions himself with a nod. Bucky runs down the road and uses him as a springboard, timing the movement just right to land on top of the plane. He runs to remove the shield and hurls it back at Steve, who catches it with grace.

Bucky grabs his gun and climbs to the front of the plane, firing through the cockpit and making his mark.

“Jump off!” Steve shouts, and Bucky catapults himself off of the front of the plane and slams down onto the pavement with a thump. Behind him, the plane spirals in a cloud of smoke toward the ground.

Nat’s car screeches to a stop in front of them and they scramble to get inside.

“Holy shit,” James says, climbing into the backseat just as Steve goes in the other door. “Holy shit,” he repeats, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and bringing him in for a searing kiss. _God_ , it feels good, aggressive and heady. The adrenaline is pumping, and it’s too much and not enough and--

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Natasha says from the front seat. “Keep it in your pants until we get to the safe house.”

“You have a safe house?” James asks, pulling away from Steve and fixing him with a penetrating gaze, trying not to dwell on the fact that Natasha must have known this whole goddamn _time_ that--

“You know, harboring an ex-HYDRA assassin and actively working against S.H.I.E.L.D. made me suspect it could come in handy.”

“Ex-HYDRA?” Steve asks.

James doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he gives Steve a look that he hopes imparts the sentiment that he’ll talk to him about it later.

“We got a long ways to go?” James asks, knowing he shouldn’t be more specific in case they’ve somehow been bugged.

“Not too far,” she says, and then she turns up the radio and grabs something from the glovebox, handing it back. It’s a map, which shows the safe house 70 miles north, with several other locations marked that could be of use. “Keep it, in case something happens to me.”

Neither of them argue, and James tucks it in his pocket. They need to ditch the car, since it’s been identified, and soon. He trusts Natasha knows what she’s doing.

“It’s good to see you,” Steve says quietly, with that deadly earnest tone that brings James straight back to the 1940s.  

James takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agrees, “you too. You don’t know how good. But I’m not the person I used to be.”

“And you think I am?” he asks, gesturing to himself. “Just, I don’t even care how right now. We can talk later. It’s just good to see you.” He reaches over and grabs James’ non-metal hand, clasping it with his own.

Natasha pulls into an abandoned parking garage, stopping next to a non-descript maroon Ford Explorer, nothing flashy or fast. Natasha opens up the trunk of the new car and pulls out two duffels.

“Steve, I didn’t foresee that you’d be joining us. You’ll have to share with James, there should be enough clothes in there for both of you. We should strip, get rid of anything that could have been bugged. They have access to some very small trackers, it’s not worth any risk,” she clarifies. She grabs her duffel and heads to the other side of the car for privacy.

“She really did plan for this, huh?” Steve says, opening the bag and pulling out several changes of clothes. “All black.”

“She knows me,” James says, grabbing a t-shirt, pants and underwear. “Me now, anyway,” he adds sheepishly.

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that, and quickly begins changing. God, James forgot how good that body looks.

“You gonna stare or you gonna change?” Steve asks, shirtless.

“M’not as pristine as you,” he says, peeling off his shirt and gesturing to his arm. “Got this after… well.”

“Bucky--”

“Don’t. I don’t blame you for anything. You did what you could and I fell, it just happened that way. What’s done is done, and I promise I’ll tell you all about it when we’re not running for our lives.”

Steve nods, looking like he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. If he’s anything like James, he’s got a loose handle on his emotions, and they need to keep it together for now. They finish getting dressed and head into the new car, leaving everything but a few choice weapons in the old. The ones they keep, they go over with a fine-toothed comb.

“Shit,” Natasha says, scanning Steve’s shield. “There’s a device, see? It’s partially busted, but someone could be onto us.”

“Wouldn’t a plane or a helicopter or a tank or something be in pursuit if that was the case?”

Natasha quirks a smile. “Well, you saw how that went last time. Maybe they’re trying a different approach.” She peels it off and crushes it with her fingers, flicking it onto the ground. “We gotta be careful pulling out of here. I brought some masks, but they’re not top notch.” They’re a bit shoddier than the electronic disguises Natasha has shown him before, but they’re certainly a step above Halloween costumes.

They pull on the masks and get into the new car. James has his gun at the ready, but keeps it disguised from view to the outside. Natasha drives the car underground, which connects to a parking garage several blocks away. They emerge following two other cars exiting a mall.

“So,” Natasha says, after driving a couple dozen tense blocks without incident, “the files are uploaded. They are triggered to be released to the public automatically tomorrow at 8:00pm should anything happen to us. But there’s a lot of incriminating stuff on there. I suggest we go to the safe house, recover, and then figure out a plan of action in the morning.”

“These files outline HYDRA’s infiltration into S.H.I.E.L.D., I’m assuming,” Steve says.

“Among other things,” Natasha replies. “There’s a decent chunk of unrelated sensitive information, too. We could potentially put innocent people at risk, exposing secrets to the wrong people, that sort of thing. But the amount of information… there’s too much for three people to parse through, unless we only disclose the most incriminating stuff.”

“Not to mention protect our own dirty secrets?” James adds dryly. People will be coming for blood, his even more than Natasha’s, when they see his file.

“That, too.” She pauses. “But like I said, let’s discuss in the morning. We need to figure out what exactly we have, and we don’t want to do anything more rash than we have to. We’ll sleep on it.”

James doesn’t see expect sleep will really be in the cards given today’s revelations, but he stays silent. He isn’t sure what there _is_ to say-- a million things, and yet nothing seems adequate. An awkward silence hangs heavy in the car.

“You have the serum, don’t you?” It’s not the question James was expecting, but it’s good-- focus on the pragmatics, the questions, before diving into the emotional shit that James isn’t prepared to deal with.

“A bastardized version of it, anyway,” he shrugs.

“Azzano,” Steve says, and it’s not a question. “Dammit, I should have known-- you were different, and I thought it was just the war, but I should have-- and I--”

“Stop it,” James interrupts. “I fell off a goddamn mountain. I would have died if Zola hadn’t found me, serum or no serum, and I was buried in three feet of snow. He only knew where I was because he put a tracker in my neck while he was doing all other kinds of shit to my body.” He turns his head and pulls up his hair, revealing the scar where he’s pulled out the chip from under his skin with his bare hands.

“I still--” He stops himself. “I guess you don’t wanna hear it.”

“You got that right, pal. You’ve always been the damn world champion of feelin’ guilty over shit that ain’t your fault.” Bucky wishes he could see Steve’s expression a little better through the mask. “It’s no use dwellin’ on it. I’ve been free for almost two years now and I’ve had enough of it.”

“How-- I mean, you look--”

“You mean why haven’t I aged?” Steve nods. “They kept me on ice. In cryo. They only let me out for missions, only the real high-profile stuff where they couldn’t risk failure.” Steve moves to interrupt again, but James puts a hand up to stop him. “I was a weapon to them, and memories and emotions in weapons create complications. They tortured me and erased everything about me until I was just the Soldier. That’s what they called me, ‘The Winter Soldier,’ or more often just ‘the asset.’ I didn’t have any moral compass, no thoughts beyond the mission at hand, unless they left me out too long and I started seeing images in my head of some skinny little punk from Brooklyn gettin’ himself into trouble.”

“ _That’s_ how you broke through your programming?” Natasha interrupts from the front seat. Shit, he forgot she was listening. “That’s the sappiest crap I’ve ever heard.” He can hear the smile in her voice.

“Maybe I’ve always a giant sap when it came to Steve.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters.

“So you escaped?” Steve asks. God, he sounds so pitiful and tentative and hopeful all at the same time.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I escaped and I didn’t know what decade I was in or anything and I had PTSD like you wouldn’t believe, but I worked through a lot of it by spending a year taking down HYDRA facilities and killing as many bastards that tortured me as I could find. Might not be the healthiest coping method, and I’m still pretty fucked up, but it could be worse. I’m managing.”

“Jesus, I don’t even-- That’s terrible, Buck. You don’t feel guilty about it, do you? I mean, you know it’s not your fault, what they did to you?”

“Pretty hard not to blame yourself when you’ve got the memories of murdering innocent people in cold blood, but I’m trying to get there.”

Steve looks grief-stricken, and seems to want to apologize again, but thinks better of it. “If you ain’t going to let me feel guilty for not looking for you, I ain’t gonna let you feel guilty for what they forced you to do as a POW,” he chokes.

“That how it is?”

“Seems like.” He smiles, real and genuine, and god, Bucky _missed_ this. He can feel himself tear up, and it’s alien to him-- he hasn’t actually cried in over 70 years (Steve, however, has been crying throughout the entire conversation). “And hey, this is a second chance, right? If you’da died, Zola still would have reformed HYDRA. Those people still woulda got killed somehow, but there wouldn’t be nobody here to stop them. How would anyone even know to take them down? Is anybody else tryin’, ‘sfar as you reckon?”

“‘ _Reckon?_ ’” Natasha parrots from the front seat. “Jesus, are you both gonna talk like that forever now, with those ridiculous Brooklyn accents? And no, nobody else is trying, or if they are, they’re making no progress. I certainly wouldn’t be aware of the infiltration if James hadn’t alerted me.”

“James?” Steve asks. Bucky hadn’t noticed, but at some point during the conversation, he stopped feeling like a stranger wearing Bucky Barnes’ body.

“Buck’s fine,” he shrugs. “Be weird havin’ you callin’ me anything else.”

Steve is silent for a moment, and then asks, “So what’s on the files?”

Natasha gives them a rundown of Project Insight, and explains to Steve how they have been getting information. She also gives him a list of agents she knows are HYDRA. She describes how to partially release the files, but she doesn’t have much luck as both Steve and Bucky are complete novices when it comes to computer technology.

Eventually they arrive at the safe house, which is an underground bunker with surprisingly tasteful interior decorating. There are no windows, but the lighting is soft and there’s actual furniture and a kitchen. It’s nothing like the bleak safe houses he’s used to, where he’s lucky to get electricity, let alone any other amenities.

“How did you set this up?” Bucky asks, looking around and noting the secondary exits.

“I always keep a safe house,” she answers. “I change its location every few years, especially after I’ve used it. I’ve learned that the only person you can ever really trust is yourself. Always good to have a backup plan.”

“Yet you trust us?” Steve asks.

“Don’t really have a choice,” Natasha says as she goes about unpacking their supplies. “James came with the information, so he was already involved. And maybe I took a little pity on him.”

“When did you know?” Bucky asks. “I’m guessing you already had some idea about my identity by your nonchalance at everything that’s happened in the past hour and a half.”

She stares at him, eyebrows raised. “A self-described HYDRA assassin who has previously _shot me_ comes to me asking for secret help infiltrating the organization I work for, you really think I’d let you stay without a background check?”

Okay, maybe that should have tipped him off. “No,” he answers, “but you did, and I didn’t think the information about my background was actually available to be found.”

She shrugs. “You didn’t appeared to have aged since I was a kid, which lead me to suspect that you could have been kept in cryo. I’d never heard of people successfully being kept alive in cryo, but I’ve seen weirder things.” She’s pulling supplies from cupboards, casual as anything. “Also, when Steve showed me photos of his old war buddies, one looked suspiciously like the soldier who trained me in the Red Room. I thought it was a coincidence at the time, but when I saw you again, I gave it a little more thought. I read about you, and it made sense that you would have gotten some version of the serum, given that HYDRA had killed to steal a sample of it and tested on you in a lab. It explained your superhuman abilities.  It was just a matter of finding an old photo and running facial recognition to verify your identity.”

Bucky and Steve both open their mouths to respond, but Natasha preempts them. “I’m a spy, remember? Listen, I know we all would love to rehash the past, but we’ve got a time-sensitive issue to deal with. First, I need to ditch the car in case we were spotted. We’ll deal with the files when I get back. In the meantime, here’s some canned food,” she gestures to what she pulled from the cupboards. “The bedroom only has two beds-- you both can take it, I’m comfortable on the couch--”

“It’s _your_ safe house,” Bucky points out.

“I’m probably not going to sleep tonight, anyway. I need to figure out what we have, and no offense, but I don’t think two supersoldiers from the forties are going to be much help with technology.”

Neither Bucky nor Steve have a retort to that. She pulls a wig and new electronic mask out of her bag and puts them on, along with a new sweatshirt, and instructs them to follow her tracker if she’s gone for more than two hours or she contacts them with a distress signal.

“Get some rest,” she instructs as she leaves. “We all could use it.”

When she’s gone, silence fills the small room. Bucky feels awkward in his skin, afraid of dealing with, well, all of it, without Natasha as a buffer.

Steve’s looking at him like he doesn’t know what to do, either. Finally, he asks, “Why didn’t you find me?”

There’s such hurt in his eyes, in his tone, in pretty much his entire demeanor, that Bucky thinks he might cry again. (This better not be becoming a trend.)

“I was scared,” he admits. “And afraid. I thought-- well, I’d killed a lot of people for the organization you died to stop.”

“But that’s not your--”

“Do you think that makes it easier? I didn’t know how you’d react, and I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t even know you were alive until I’d been staying with Natasha for a couple months.”

“I-- really?” Steve furrows his brow. “I don’t mean to sound conceited, but it’s not exactly a secret that I came back.”

“I was avoiding technology and news,” he explains evasively. “And anyway, I didn’t want to come back to you like that. You’d just saved the world and I’d-- I wanted to do something good first.”

“Bucky, nothing you could do would make me believe you’re a bad person. You’re not, that’s just not who you are.”

“You’re too trusting by half,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But I think it was more like, I needed to prove to _me_ that I’m not a bad person. That I _am_ person, and not just a weapon, a killer. You know?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, and instead engulfs him in a tight hug. It’s a little too emotional for Bucky, and he pulls back after a few moments. “What about you, huh?” he asks. “You coping with this new future? Not really what I pictured from those sci-fi books.”

“Me neither,” Steve chuckles through his tears. “So many screens everywhere, didn’t expect that.”

“So many!” Bucky agrees. “Who needs to be looking at them all the time?”

“And the internet-- I never saw that one coming.”

“Nobody smokes anymore.”

“The buildings are too tall.”

“They look like they’re gonna fall over!”

“There’s so much _sugar_ in everything.”

“The furniture seems like it’s made out cardboard.”

“I can’t believe people don’t wear hats anymore.”

“Everything’s so expensive.”

“Somehow we managed to mess up the atmosphere?”

“Fruit ain’t a luxury item!”

“Have you tasted a banana recently?”

They’re both laughing now, and it’s like another time. Sometime more carefree, before all the shit. Steve’s looking at him with a reverence that sends a flash of heat through Bucky’s body, and before he can talk himself out of it, he grabs him by the shoulders and brings him into a kiss. It’s not aggressive like earlier, but the feeling is no less intense. Steve coaxes his way into his mouth as Bucky maneuvers them to the couch.

“I missed you like crazy,” Bucky murmurs as he mouths at Steve’s jaw.

“Yeah?” Steve responds, breathless. “Did you crash a plane into the arctic over it?”

Bucky stops his ministrations and pulls away. “Please tell me you didn’t kill yourself over me.”

Steve shrugs. “There were other reasons, obviously. But at the time, I think I was in too much grief to try to think of strategies that would down the plane and save my own ass. I could hear the tears in Peggy’s voice and I felt so bad for leaving her, but in a weird way, I was also relieved. That everything was gonna be over.”

Bucky can’t think of a response to that, and kisses him again instead. Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s back, like he’s frustrated that he can’t touch more of him at once. Bucky knows the feeling. They continue for what feels like hours, until they hear the lock turning, and Bucky reluctantly pulls himself away.

“I ditched the car,” Natasha says, and she’s also carrying a small paper bag that she sets on the counter. “I was kinda hoping you guys would have made dinner by the time I got back. I’m starving.”

“We have a lot to catch up on,” Steve says, blushing as he gets up to help her. They prepare a simple meal of canned beans, canned vegetables and rice, and it tastes delicious after the day they’ve had.

Natasha is on her laptop as she eats, going through the files. “There’s a lot of shit on me in these.”

“Me too?” Bucky asks.

“You’ve seen your file and you know there’s shit.”

“I didn’t exactly read through it all,” he mutters.

“You guys should get cleaned up, relax. I know this is an emotional thing for you.”

“‘An emotional thing,’ that’s one way of putting it,” Bucky responds, but he acquiesces that getting out of his sweaty clothes and taking a warm shower _would_ feel nice.

“The bag on the counter’s for you, by the way,” Natasha says. Bucky goes to grab it and takes a peek inside, blushing. She winks at him.

Steve takes a shower first while Bucky sits on the end of one of the beds. He’s appreciative of how accepting Steve is being, and in a way he expected it, but he’s not sure where to go from here. He’s still fucked up, and people are going to be after his blood-- who is he to bring Steve into that? When he thinks of possible futures for his life, he comes up completely blank. His only goal since escaping has been to destroy HYDRA, and once (if) that gets accomplished, where will he be?

Steve interrupts his thoughts, emerging from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. “Water’s still hot.”

Bucky nods and takes his shower. When he comes out, it’s to find Steve in slightly too small sweats and a t-shirt. He’s sitting on the bed and looking pensive, and a wide grin emerges on his face when he sees Bucky.

“You know, I saw that clip of you on The Morning Buzz,” Bucky says as he searches for a shirt to put on. “Nat showed me.” Steve averts his eyes as he gets dressed.

“I might not have been so candid if I’d known you were alive,” he responds, blushing. “I never meant to, uh, _out_ you. Is that what people say these days? It just kind of came out. Not that your identity, well.”

“It’s all speculation, isn’t it?” He swallows. “You did say something interesting, though. About how you felt about this mystery person you were in a relationship with.”

Steve looks at his hands. “I said that I was in love with him, as I recall.” Bucky sits next to him on the bed, wearing matching clothes, and asks him if it was true. “You know I’m not much of a liar, Buck. I’m sorry I never said it to you before. I guess I kind of thought it was unspoken between us that you were always the person I loved best, but it’s not like we could do much about it back then.”

“I never said it, either.” He pauses. “But I did. I do. I just, uh, I’m not…”

“If you’re going to say you’re not the person you used to be or that you’re not deserving or some shit like that, I’m gonna have to ask you to shut up right now.”

“I just don’t know if I’m ever going to feel like the kind of person who’s worthy of you.”

Steve scoots closer to him and places his hand on his back. “It’s not up to you to decide whether or not I think you’re worthy. You are to me. You were a POW and if I’d have fallen and Zola had found me, there’s nothing I could have done to save myself from the same fate.”

“But--”

“I’m not a better man than you, Buck, I just drew different cards.”

Bucky takes in a deep breath and accepts that they’re not going to agree on this right now. “Nat bought us something,” he says instead, picking the bag up off the floor and handing it to Steve, who peeks inside.

“Oh my god,” he responds, flushing. “She took a huge risk by going in public to buy this, mask or no mask.”

“I know,” Bucky laughs, taking the bag from him and dumping the condoms and lube onto the bed. “So maybe we should put it to good use?”

Steve responds by kissing him, pulling him down onto the bed. Maybe Bucky doesn’t think he deserves it, but he wants it, and Steve wants it, and he’s too weak to say no. He can’t even really think of the reasons why he would, with Steve’s warm body against him. They’ve changed so much-- the last time they were in a real bed alone together, Steve was half his size, and Bucky’s skin was soft and free of scars and metal. During the war, they never got opportunities to really take time with each other. At least that Bucky recalls-- he still gets new memories all the time.

They move together slowly, biting back moans and kissing apologies into each other’s skin. It’s over too quickly, but after, the feeling of deep intimacy lingers in Bucky’s body. He finds himself tucked into Steve’s side, held and comforted by him in a way he never could be before the serum. It’s nice, and he realizes how goddamn _long_ it’s been since he’s touched another person like this.

“So, Natasha,” Steve starts, voice quiet, “how did you know to find her? And how’d you know she’d help?”

“I didn’t know who else to go to,” Bucky answers, the sheets rustling as he shifts himself to look at Steve. “She’s the only person I knew of who had escaped the Red Room or HYDRA. I looked her up, saw she worked with S.H.I.E.L.D., and I knew her. I trained her, when she was just a kid. I thought she could sympathize. And at the time I didn’t know you were alive, so I didn’t have any other options unless I wanted to try to do it by myself. I’m alright with technology, but hacking into secret files isn’t something they needed the Soldier to do.”

Steve hums and runs his hands through Bucky’s hair. “What do you want to do? With the files on you?”

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know what to do besides release them. People are going to be coming for my blood, but how else can I explain why I’m alive?”

“I’m tired of answering to the public.”

“We shouldn’t have to,” Bucky agrees. “We’re just two dumb schmucks from Brooklyn, how the hell’d we end up here? Nobody used to give two shits about us.”

Steve laughs, the movement vibrating Bucky’s body. “I don’t know.”

Bucky props himself up so he can give Steve a slow kiss, savoring the eager way he responds, smiling against Bucky’s mouth. “I’m glad we can do this again, though,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve nods his agreement.

They stay like that for an indeterminate about of time, kissing and catching each other up. Steve tells Buck how they brought him out of the coma, how he’s adjusted to the future, what the Battle of New York was like. Bucky doesn’t have much to say about what he’s been up to, because his time with HYDRA is too traumatic to relive and his time with Natasha has been more or less uneventful, but as usual, they never seem to run out of things to talk about.

Eventually it gets late, and Steve falls asleep. Bucky tries, but his mind is wired. He’s restless, so he gets up to get a snack from the kitchen. He quietly exits the room to find Natasha sitting cross-legged on the couch, hoodie up, her face illuminated by her laptop screen.

“You ever gonna sleep?” Bucky asks.

Natasha doesn’t look up as she answers, “Could ask you the same. It’s late.” Bucky shrugs. “Is Steve awake?”

“Nah,” Bucky answers. “He sleeps like the goddamn dead. Think it’s on account of his bein’ sick all the time when he was little. He was never comfortable, always dealin’ with one ailment or another, learned to force himself to stay asleep. It was a real pain during the war when he’d never wake up to sirens or nothin’. Eventually we wouldn’t let him sleep in his own tent, even though he was captain.”

“It’s nice,” Natasha says, looking up at him, “to hear you talk about your non-HYDRA life.”

“Yeah,” he answers, not knowing what more to say. “You want coffee or something? I saw you had some.”

She shakes her head. “I think I’m gonna try to sleep in a bit,” she says, rubbing her face in her hands. “I can’t keep looking at this.”

“Saw you had booze.”

“I’ll take a vodka soda. There’s some some club soda in the cabinet next to the sink.”

He prepares a drink for her and a slightly more generous portion for himself. He doesn’t know how long they’ll be here in the safe house, but Nat has at least fifteen bottles of booze. He wonders idly what kind of situation she expects she could be in necessitating a safe house and that much alcohol, but he’s not going to pretend he doesn’t appreciate it.

“Cheers,” he says after handing her the glass.

She gives him a small smile and clinks her glass against his.

“So,” he says after a beat. “Why didn’t you tell Steve about me? Obviously you’ve known for awhile.”

“Because you didn’t want me to,” she responds simply. “It was pretty obvious, although I had no idea you didn’t even know he was alive until we talked about it. You hadn’t had the chance to make your own decisions for a long time, I figured you deserved to call the shots for awhile.”

Bucky considers. “Plus, he’s a horrible spy.”

That startles a laugh out of her. “Yeah, that too. When he knows of an injustice he does tend to barrel ahead without thinking. This needed to be a covert operation, but I was serious when I said it was just happenstance that he followed me after I got the files. At that point, it seemed like we could use the muscle. And I won’t pretend I wasn’t eager for you to get off your guilt trip and start doing something good for yourself.”

He raises his glass to her and takes a long drink. “I appreciate that,” he says with a small burp.

“Of course, Solider.”

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes drinking, Nat still looking through the files.

“Fuck this,” she says eventually, slamming the laptop shut. “I can’t look at this anymore.” She’s finished her drink, and she goes to the kitchen to drink at least a few shots of vodka straight from the bottle. “I’m forcing myself asleep, and I’m kicking you out.”

He nods and puts his glass in the sink. When he heads back to his room, he’s a little less on edge. He slips back under the blankets and wraps Steve’s arms around him, shifting to get comfortable.

“Are you sure you’re real?” he hears Steve whisper into his ear.

He turns his head to bring Steve in for a kiss. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs. “I’m real, and I’m here.”

“Show me,” Steve rasps, winding his hands around Bucky. He responds by propping himself on top of Steve, gazing down at him with a lewd smirk.

Bucky kisses him then, slow and deep, savoring the warmth of his body and the caress of his lips. Maybe he’s a sap, but doing this makes him feel more human than he has since he fell.

They make love with more urgency than before, but it’s no less intentional or intense. There’s an ache in Bucky’s gut that he can’t satisfy, like it’s impossible to be as close to Steve as he needs to be. He begs to be fucked, to feel Steve deep inside him. Steve scrambles with the lube like he it’s the first time, and it almost feels like it. It’s been ages since Bucky’s felt anything like this, so wanton and consumed and willingly at the mercy of another person. Bucky’s skin feels alive in ways he can’t remember, and Steve is just so, so--

“I’m gonna come,” Bucky gasps, his eyes slamming shut. He chokes on air as he feels his orgasm surge through him, utterly coming apart as Steve fucks him through it. His mind goes blank with ecstasy, and it’s several moments before he comes back to himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says, giving him a rough kiss. “Forgot you could come like that.”

“Forgot I could, too,” Bucky groans, still reeling. “Fuck, didn’t know I could feel like that.” He realizes that Steve has come and thinks he should be disappointed for being too far gone to notice it, but he’s too blissed out to care. He looks up at Steve with wide eyes.

“I love you,” Steve says.

Bucky takes a deep breath and responds, “I love you, too. But things have changed.”

“We can figure it out.”

Bucky bites back his retort and allows himself to enjoy the moment. They can figure it out.

They always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! There will be at least one more chapter after this.


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